Don't Be A Menace To Mount Olympus While Drinking Your Ambrosia In The Hood, or Honey, I Shrunk The God 1-4
Warning: I'm not deliberately trying to kill anyone with this fic, but I am an Ares fan, so if it happens, I'm not deliberately trying not to, either. Know what I mean? No, me either.
Akn-acnow-acknowledgemints...ah, screw it!
People to thank: Ares God of War for trusting me enough to share this very personal chapter of his life, knowing that I would never reveal it to anyone, as I solemnly
promised. Bill Clintones God of Really Big Lies for endowing me well enough that I can even look into a War God's eyes and lie my ass off.
ADDITIONAL WARNING: Please do not read this story if you are offended by the term "HUGE, THROBBING COCK", because, while I do not actually use the term "HUGE, THROBBING COCK" in this story, you still will not like this type of story if you are offended by the term "HUGE, THROBBING COCK". I have the utmost respect for those who choose not to read the term "HUGE, THROBBING COCK" and would never dream of making them read the term "HUGE, THROBBING COCK." If, however, you are not offended by the term "HUGE, THROBBING COCK", please feel free to read on and forward this story to others like yourself who are not offended by the term "HUGE, THROBBING COCK".
Ares, God of War and star of many an author's wet dreams, stood in front of the mirror and fondled his huge, throbbing cock.
"Hey!" Ares protested, levelling a finger at the author. "You said you weren't going to say that!"
The author crossed her arms. "When?"
Ares glanced over her shoulder. "Scroll up...there!" he poked the monitor.
"Oh. Okay." The author deleted and started over...
Ares, God of War and star of many an author's wet dream, stood in front of the mirror dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.
"Hey!" Ares protested, dropping his little straw basket and wincing as Toto bit his ankle. "You can't do this to me! I am Ares, God of War!" He tossed his braids defiantly.
The author sighed, thinking that, for a mythological character, Ares was a real pain in the ass. Nevertheless, she started over...
Ares, God of War and star of many an author's wet dream, stood in front of the mirror admiring the way his sculpted pecs bulged forth from his tight leather vest.
Ares nodded curtly. "That's more like it." He smoothed his glossy midnight curls with one huge, manly hand. "I really am all that and a bag of chips," he purred appreciatively.
He turned to the side and ran a hand down his washboard abs, checking for war handles. Nope, all clear, but when one was several millenia old it got harder to stay in shape.
Ares heard the disembodied voice of his sister before she actually appeared.
"What is it, Dite?" he sighed, not bothering to turn from the awesome sight in the mirror. Were his biceps looking even better than usual? Yes, he believed they were.
Dite shattered the mirror with a well-placed pink fireball.
"Seven years bad luck," Ares commented, waving his finger reproachfully.
"Gods don't have bad luck."
"I did when you were born." Ares smoothed the leather over his round, muscled buttocks.
Dite's face flamed. "I didn't come here to have a battle of wits with you, Ares."
Ares' shrugged. "I prefer an armed opponent, anyway."
Pink steam rose from the Goddess' ears.
"Aw, sis, are you trying to think again?" Ares tsked, eyeing the steam. It was a little-known fact that Ares was not only the God of War, but also the God of Snotty Comebacks.
Pastel sparks flew from Dite's head, landing on the black marble floor to form red roses. Ares eyed themwith distaste. Now he'd have to invent weed killer.
"You," Dite said through clenched teeth, "will *not* go through with this latest war of yours."
"Why not?" Ares yawned. "I think Switzerland vs. Luxembourg would be a blast."
"I forbid it!"
"You forbid it?" Ares threw back his dark head and laughed, a dark sound coming from deep in his dark chest, which was covered by dark skin and dark leather, for Ares was a dark kinda guy. "*You* forbid it? That's hilarious, Dite! People don't even believe
in you anymore. Not since you did the Julia Roberts/Lyle Lovett pairing." He shuddered. "And you think my wars are gruesome."
Dite's eyes narrowed to slits. "Why, you little-" her eyes unnarrowed as something struck her. "Little...yeah, that's it." A slow, sweet smile spread across her slow, sweet face. "Maybe you're right, brother. I should mind my own business, shouldn't I?"
Ares nodded. "That would be best. Why not go arrange another suitable couple. May I suggest Dom DeLuise and Kate Moss?" He sneered happily.
Dite's nostrils flared in a someone-just-cut-one-in-the-elevator type of way, but the smile was in place. "Shake on it?" she held out a perfectly manicured hand.
Ares shrugged and offered her his left hand absently. "It's not your fault you're a moron," he said tolerantly.
Dite seized Ares' hand in a surprisingly strong grip. Pink neon energy flowed from her and covered Ares.
"Hey, what-!" The God glanced down at himself as the pink surrounded him and he began to shrink. Down, down, down he went, and for a guy who wasn't used to going down, it was fairly traumatic. He watched his horrid sister grow taller in all her pink glory while he grew smaller in all his black splendor.
He stopped around three inches and looked up. "Dite!" he screamed. "This isn't funny!"
"Oh, be kind to the author, she's trying her best." Dite reached down and scooped up her tri-inch brother by the back of his neck, his tiny legs kicking ineffectively. "You need to learn some manners, brother dear. Nothing like being three inches tall to improve the attitude."
She waved her non-shrunken-brother-burdened hand and zapped them both to Earth.
Now," she said, setting Ares on the ground, "take my advice and watch out for cats, mice, roaches, dust mites, amoebas...oh, just about everything. Ta, now!" She disappeared in a cloud of noxiously cheerful pastel stars.
"Dite!" Ares screamed. "You can't do this to me!"
He looked around at the world towering around him. He raised his face to the sky so the reader could see his silouhette against the setting sun.
"As Zeus is my witness, I will never be tiny again!"
There was not much a three-inch-tall man could do, Ares noticed, besides walk. And even that was fucked because he wasn't making very good time with his inch and a half long legs.
If he'd been a shorter god-before Dite had shrunk him-he supposed he'd be making even worse time because he'd have even shorter legs and would therefore not cover as much ground, but Ares was never one to count his blessings, only his victims, so he grumbled to himself as he walked.
He'd just gone over for the fourth time what he'd do to his sister when two familiar voices came from down the road.
Ares cut himself off in mid-revenge plan. Was that-?
It was! Hercules and Iolaus!
Ares was so glad to see his hated brother that he ran out in the middle of the road, waving his hands, without thinking. He realized the gravity of his mistake only when it was too late to dodge the size-twelve that came stomping down on him.
"Bad thing," Ares commented as Herc's boot came down and squashed him flat.
It was no problem to unflatten himself and stuff his guts back in, but Herc seemed to have trodden in dog shit recently, which made Ares fairly unhappy. But he sucked it up and ran after the departing pair, screaming, "Herc! Iolaus! Down here!"
Ares was rapidly learning one of life's hard lessons: no one ever takes time to recognize the little guys.
He sprinted after them as fast as his little shrunken-god legs would go and made one mighty leap, sighing, "Thank you, Thigh Master!" and landed on the top of the boot that had so recently squished him flat.
He pounded on Herc's foot. "Herc! Look down!" *Pound*
Herc continued to exude unresolved sexual tension in Iolaus' direction while remaining oblivious to the radically-reduced War God clinging to his boot.
Frustrated, Ares tossed a fireball no bigger than a roach's testicle at the bare skin of Herc's ankle.
The demigod paused. "Hang on a minute. Something's stinging me." He leaned down to investigate. He scratched at the scorched skin. "Oh, hi, Ares." He pulled his pantleg down and continued walking.
Five miles down the road, he stopped and frowned. Bent down. Stared at the Ooompah Loompah that used to be his brother. Blinked.
Ares rolled his eyes. Not very quick on the uptake was his mighty brother, but this wasn't Mensa.
"Yes, Herc. To make a long story short, Dite shrunk me. I need to get to Heph; he's the only one who can talk sense into her when she's like this."
Herc reached down and lifted Ares into his palm.
Iolaus came to see what Herc was holding. "Ares? Someone shrunk you," he pointed out, somewhat unnecessarily.
"It's easy to see who's the brains around here," Ares said through clenched teeth.
"My brother has a *small* problem," Hercules smirked. "He wants us to take him to Heph, who'll make *short* work of it."
"We're not that far away," Iolaus pointed out. "We'll be there in a *little* while."
"Be happy to help you, *big* brother." Herc stuffed the fuming god into his pocket.
"Hey, Herc, I'm hungry," Iolaus snickered. "How bout some *short* ribs?"
"And strawberry *short*cake?" Herc shot back.
"Made by a *short* order cook!"
Ares bit his lip as his loathsome brother and his loathsome best friend bellowed goatish laughter. He considered sinking his teeth into Herc's balls, but thought better of it, and simply added them to his ever-longer shit list.
"I'll get you, my pretty. And your little hunter, too!"
Ares settled himself in amongst the lint, candy wrappers, and moldy raisins in Herc's pocket. As a method of travel, it ranked way below his customized stretch chariot with its wet bar, opera windows, and bumper sticker that read "Chakrams Don't Kill People. People Kill People", but it would have to do.
They passed through a city an hour or so later. Ares knew this not because he was a god and knew everything, although he was and he did, but because he was suddenly assaulted with an odor like a gas station bathroom. Of course, gas stations did not, at that time, exist to even have bathrooms, but it's still a pretty fair simile.
As soon as Iolaus and Herc stepped into the city limits, the predictable happened: a fight started, possibly for the sole reason that it was in the script.
Men screamed and clutched their children to them. Women roared and threw punches. This was a very liberated city.
Ares popped his head out of Herc's pocket and watched. This was, after all, his domain.
Immediately, Herc and Iolaus dived in, sending citizens flying to land in mauled heaps. One old lady swung at Herc. He blocked and sent his mighty fist hurtling toward her. At the last minute she ducked and the demigod's fist slammed into a young boy wearing a
red jacket that covered everything but his eyes. The boy flew several hundred yards and spattered against a stone wall.
"Oh my God!" cried another young boy. "You killed Kenny! You bastards!"
The battle stopped cold while people wondered how the writer could get away with violating copywrite twice in one story. Meanwhile, Herc and Iolaus moved on with their hands on each other's asses in a manly way. They weren't gay. Nope. Couldn't be.
Ares yelped when Iolaus happened to squeeze the pocket he was in. "Hey! Miss Noxeema, Miss ChiChi? Think you could tone it down here? At least while I'm hitching a ride in Herc's pants?"
"Calm down, Tiny Tim," Iolaus snickered. "We're just having a *little* fun."
Ares sighed and slumped back onto a pile of lint as the size jokes started again like a Donny Osmond 45 set to continuous play.
Heph's volcano forge was only an hour away, but the writer had to be up early the next day, so it would likely take much longer to reach their destination.
Ares resigned himself to wallowing in self-pity and old raisins until such a time he could get to Heph.
Ares woke up sweaty. It was mighty hot in Herc's pocket, and all he wanted-aside from growing six feet-was a drink of cold water.
He lifted his head, only to find that the raisin he'd been using as a pillow was stuck fast to his curls. Ares swore and tried to reach up and remove the offending fruit, but the candy wrapper he'd been using as a blanket adhered to his leather clothing like Cher
to a teenage boy.
Bound hand and foot, raisin dangling from midnight curls, the War God struggled to his knees. Fortunately for him, he got that far. Unfortunately for him, it was Glue A Food To Ares Day and he overbalanced and fell face-first into an old piece of baklava.
Bound hand and foot is bad. Having a raisin dangling from one's hair is worse. But there's nothing like having an old piece of baklava clinging tenaciously to one's face to ruin a day.
"Herc-u-LEEEEEEEEEES!" Ares tried to shout, but thanks to the pastry clogging his airway it sounded more like "Mmmm-m-MMMMMMMMMMM!"
A huge paw dipped in and fished him out of the Pocket of Death. Ares landed flat on his ass in Herc's palm, shaking his head like Katharine Hepburn on speed.
Blind and mute, Ares felt Herc remove the raisin from his hair, then the candy wrapper from his clothes, then the baklava from his face.
Ares was loathe to open his eyes, knowing-just *knowing*-that there was a shit-eating grin on his little brother's face. He supposed he could pretend to hve been permanently blinded by a rare allergy to phyllo dough, but that was a little lame, even for this story.
Never one to put off the unpleasant, he opened one eye. Far from smirking, Herc was actually regarding the tiny God with sympathy.
"Let me help you with that," the hero suggested. He sat down by the side of the road and carefully began to wash the goo off the tiny leather-clad figure.
"Here, Ares," Iolaus said, reaching down to rub a small amount of oil onto the black curls. "This'll help with the tangles."
Ares regarded them suspiciously. "Okay," he said between swipes of the washcloth, "what do you want?"
Iolaus shrugged. "Nothing." He picked a walnut chunk out of the God's hair.
"We're just trying to be helpful," Herc agreed.
"Riiiiight," Ares scoffed, eyes narrowing.
Herc sighed. "Ares, we're family. You're my brother and I'll always be here when you need me."
Tears welled up in the god's eyes. He didn't normally cry, but the past several hours had been hard on him and he figured he was entitled to a little mush.
"Thanks, guys," he choked, shooting each of them a grateful look.
Iolaus patted his back with one shoulder. "Hey, it's alright," he said softly.
Hercules nodded. "Turn around, bro. Let me make sure I didn't miss anything."
Ares sniffled and twirled around briefly.
"Perfect," Iolaus said.
"You guys are the best," Ares said. "I won't forget this."
"Awwww, it's nothing."
Herc and Iolaus exchanged glances and snickered silently at the "I LOVE JOXER" sign that was now affixed to Ares' back.